Ways To Celebrate The Completion Of A 20 Mile Run

Step 1: Abandon all rules and perameters set for yourself regarding food.  

I ran 20 miles on Monday, came home, sat around for a while thinking about what I should eat, realized it was too late for most delivery, and ordered Domino's, Brooklyn-style.  FYI, 16 inches of pizza is really not that much.  I ate half a pizza in approximately seven minutes.  At least it had vegetables on it. 

Which is more than I can say for the pizza that I ordered yesterday afternoon, at Otto, a small and crispy pie that came topped with a sunny side up egg.  To meet my veggie quota, I ordered asparagus with pecorino and English peas with proscuitto and mint.  To meet my already-met carbohydrate quota, I also ordered bruschetta with white beans and red pepper flakes.  It was a decent afternoon.  The pizza was crispy.  I can't complain.  

Later, it was on to more edibles in Carroll Gardens.  We tucked into a cozy booth at Black Mountain Winehouse for some passable nebbiolo, pretty darn good country pate, and weird-but-kitschy-cool fondue.  Also on the menu?  Salami and lard white bread, a panini stuffed with mayo and mortadella and served with hot peppers and quince marmalade, white bean crostini with warm ricotta, and a tuna nicoise salad.  We got experimental with the fondue and my friend went crazy dipping the mortadella sandwich into the hot cheese.  I'm pretty sure I got back the calories lost on that long, ambitious run.  

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Otto Enoteca

1 5th Avenue

New York, NY 10003

212.995.9559

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Black Mountain Winehouse

415 Union Street

Brooklyn, NY 11231

718.522.4340

They're Not Going To Go All The Way

The Giants, that is. Is it criminal to expect a repeat performance in the game defined by the adage "Any Given Sunday"? Would it have been so completely bonkers to watch Eli Manning manning it up (pun intended) against the Eagles to finish what has certainly been an impressive season?

While the Giants were busy making their mistakes yesterday afternoon (stop passing up the middle already!), I was busy making some mistakes of my own. It might actually be impossible to watch American football in the company of food that is not fried, beige, and generally unhealthy. And any teetotaler will tell you that football season is the one exception to the "don't drink on Sundays" rule.

I ended up at a sports bar in Astoria. I had one criteria when choosing this particular bar: Buffalo wings. My friend, more moved by the game than by the game food, figured that Broadway Station, a pub located at the Broadway stop on the N train, would be big enough to guarantee a seat during a high-octane hometown game.

We did get a seat and we did get wings. They were small (strike one), breaded (strike two), and not nearly spicy enough (yerrrrrrrr out). Baby back ribs met with more success, fatty beef ribs falling off the bone and lacquered with sticky sweet BBQ sauce. The ribs came with vinegary cole slaw festooned with mustard seeds.

To continue my artery-clogging afternoon, I supplemented our meaty snacks with a plate of onion rings (bread battered, not the beer battered variety) and a Caesar salad. The lettuce itself was pretty unremarkable grocery store greenage, but the dressing was thick, tangy, and surely made with plenty of mayonnaise.

I washed this down with a Magic Hat No. 9--apricot-flavored hippie beer from Vermont--a Diet Coke, and a glass of water, because variety is the spice of life.

And by the way, the Giant's loss did not provoke better eating habits in the evening; for dinner, we watched 24 and ate Toll House cookies (from the tube) and a very mediocre Domino's pizza. This is why I love my country: none of the foods we invented will ever help perpetuate a long or healthy existence.

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Broadway Station
3009 Broadway
Astoria, NY 11106
718.545.5869